Never in Our Favor
by Wolvesareawesome13
Summary: The rebellion has failed. The Mockingjay is dead and things are worse then they have ever been. The Capitol is angry and is eager to teach the disobedient districts a lesson. The Hunger Games is back and this year the arena is primed to be so diabolically mind twisting that it will undoubtedly show the rebels that no matter what, the odds will never be in their favor. (SYOT CLOSED)
1. Never in Their Favor

**Hello all, thank you so much for clicking this story. So this a collaboration fic between myself and the awesome Music Rules The World. The prologue has been written by me and we will more than likely switch chapter to chapter but that's not important. Also this was my first attempt at writing first person, so I apologize if it's rough. Anyways I've rambled on enough so just to be clear I do not own the Hunger Games, no matter how much I wish I did.**

 **P.s. All the information you'll need to submit a tribute is own my profile.**

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 **President Acadia, Capitol, Six Months Before Reaping.**

I sigh for what seems like the umpteenth time that day, that week, that month. I've sighed so many times in the previous months that it has become a tiresome habit that seems nearly impossible to break. I hate sighing now, it's nothing more than a slight exhalation of air to express exasperation. What I feel is not exasperation, it has never been exasperation. No. For the longest time I felt an odd sense of sympathy for the district savages and nothing but fear and sorrow at what seemed to be the massive current of needless violence that swept through the country. Those feelings are long gone now, replaced by a burning white-hot fury.

I'm not exasperated, I am pissed. off. I don't want to sigh, no, I want to scream, scream until my throat is raw and I literally can't make another sound. I want to cry out and voice my grief and sorrow and rage for all to hear, to drop to my knees and sob my heart out until I have no tears left.

But I can't, what impression would that give? The leader of this nation sobbing and screaming like a terrified child. That would give the rebels- at least what remains of them- a good laugh I'm sure, even worse it would give them hope and that is unacceptable. So I don't scream or rage and no one will ever see a tear I shed. I sit and patiently listen to reports on rebel executions, plans for rebuilding, and numerous other issues that required the attention of the president and just simply sigh. For now that's all I can do.

"Madame President . . . Madame President are you alright?"

I'm snapped cleanly from my admittedly melancholy musings by the concerned voice of my assistant, Aelia.

Aelia is a girl of twenty two and my most recent assistant -as my last two met rather gruesome ends during the war- and she is arguably the best, despite her young age.

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine Aelia. What is it?"

She nods and immediately presents me with a crisp, white envelope "A letter from Mr. Mills, Ma'am"

"Thank you, make sure I'm not disturbed"

The girl nods once more at my subtle dismissal and leaves with a respectful "of course, Ma'am"

I skim my fingers lightly over the clean paper, hesitating slightly. Alexander Mills was my first choice for the position of the Head Gamemaker. He's intelligent, experienced, and he is just as eager as I -if not more so- to make the districts pay for their sins. I offered him the position a few months ago and he accepted, which was a relief. The Games could and would be done if he were to decline, of course . . . though if I'm being perfectly honest things would be much more difficult without him.

But what if I was wrong with my selection? What if Alexander grew tired of blood and carnage-it's unlikely, but stranger things have happened-. What if there was a problem he couldn't solve . . . what then?

So many what ifs and I won't receive answers to any of them if I just stare at this white envelope all day, so when hesitating finally grows to be tiresome I open the letter with little ceremony and begin to pour over its contents.

President Acadia,

I hope you are doing well, all things considered. The preparations for the seventy sixth Games are now underway, though I must regretfully inform you that we are making little progress. As I'm sure you're aware, half of our original Gamemakers have fallen victim to the rebel's depravity and hardly anyone is willing to step up to take their place- likely for fear of the same fate. Progress with the arena itself isn't going all that much better. Any idea brought up for said arena has ended with arguments that last for two weeks or more. In most instances these arguments have reduced us to little better than squabbling children. You have managed to beat down this rebellion just as other presidents had done before you and to that I offer you my sincerest congratulations. However the districts must be taught once again to fear us and the power we posse. They need to regret every action that they have taken against us. These people . . . no, these savages need to be beaten back into submission. To do that we must give them something so horrifying, so mind twisting that it will strike absolute, paralyzing fear into the hearts of every man, woman, and child of the districts and make them terrified to place even half a toe out of line. I have come up with an arena that would be ideal for performing such a purpose. Unfortunately I have been unable to bring up the idea as a result of all the infighting. As I've just mentioned it is nothing set in stone but I believe that you will enjoy this idea as much as I, so I humbly request a private meeting with you to discuss this matter at your earliest convenience. Themis I promise you that the rebels will be punished for their crimes against us, Nickel, Hestia and all who have fallen by their hands will be avenged. I hope that you shall agree when next we meet.

Sincerely you best friend and loyal Gamemaker,

Head Gamemaker Alexander Mills

When I've finished the letter, uttering yet another loathsome sigh and almost screaming because of it. My eyes linger on the second to last sentence and I can't stop my heart from clenching. Nickle… and Hestia, two victims of this war who were slaughtered mercilessly by the rebels for simply doing their duty. Hestia: her duty as a faithful guardian of the peace and Nickle: his duty as a husband… my husband. Those rebel bastards took so many lives, so many people who were important to me. My husband, my goddaughter, friends, family; there are very few people who were spared from the effect of this carnage and I am not one of them.

I am under no delusions that our victory over the districts would have been possible if it weren't for the capture and execution of their precious Mockingjay. Her death crushed their hope and without hope it was all too easy to beat them down. We need these games to show that no matter how much they fight us, no matter how much they rebel they have no hope of ever overtaking us, they will always lose.

Alexander has changed drastically since the war, more sadistic and almost unstable since Hestia died. It was only natural I suppose; your children are meant to succeed you in death, not precede you.

Though one would say I'm not exactly a pillar of mental health at this point and time either, but I don't have the time to lose my composure. I'm too busy to stew in sadistic fantasies of revenge. Alexander however has had nothing but time to do just that, hell I've been paying him to do exactly that.

Time to see what I've been paying Nickle's old friend for. With that thought in mind I wasted little time in dialing his number. The response is almost immediate.

"Madame President?" His voice is calm but I can't help but notice that his tone is slightly higher than usual, he's nervous.

"Head Gamemaker Mills. I apologize for the lack of warning but I just received your letter and I felt that this matter required my immediate attention"

"O-Oh I apologize Madame. I didn't intend for the letter to be distracting" he said earnestly, though I'm not sure if I should believe him or not.

"Enough with the formalities Alexander, according to you, you are my 'best friend' after all" I know my tone is icy and I can easily visualize his wince on the other side of the line. I don't really care. Alexander is a friend, a good friend; but he will never be my best friend and I will never be his. No, Nickle will always be my best friend and no one will ever take his place and I know that Alexander echoes my sentiment.

Anyways, he chuckles humorlessly and clears his throat "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me Themis"

I want to be annoyed at the use of my first name, but it was my own fault; I wanted to drop the damn formalities. Though it seems almost too familiar now, too much like the old days, before Nickle . . .

"May I offer you some advice?" it's more of a statement than a question

He sputters slightly but he does manage to stammer out a coherent "of course". I'm not surprised by this reaction, I'm not exactly known for sharing helpful tidbits of advice.

"For these games to go well, I need to have a solid team making it all possible. If you can't get more Gamemakers then you need to get the ones that you do have to work with you. You are the Head Gamemaker they work under you- make them aware of it." I pause briefly to consider what to say next just in case he's feeling a bit hesitant. "This arena has to be perfect Alexander, nothing can go wrong. This is my first year as President and I am doing my damndest to restore this nation to its former glory, and I'm expecting you to do the same with these games. If you can avenge the fallen then by all means do so but do not lose focus. If this fails I may need to begin considering replacements for you and your remaining Gamemakers. Do I make myself clear?"

I don't miss his audible swallow before he replies with a respectful "Perfectly, President Acadia"

For the first time in what seems like an eternity I feel my lips twitch slightly upwards in a smile. Well it might be more of a small smirk than a true smile, but it's the most expression I've allowed myself to have since my husband's death.

"Excellent. Now what is this idea of yours for the arena?"

I can almost see the dark grin forming on his lips when he says "I'm glad you asked, Madame President"

These games will be like nothing anyone has ever seen before, they have to be. The districts will pay and once again the price will be their children's blood. They must all understand, every last one of them that the odds will never be in their favor.

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 **There we go the (1st?) prologue. So please review/follow/favorite if it suits you. Constructive criticism is always wanted and appreciated**

 **Thanks- Wolves :)**


	2. The Fight of Fools

**Alrighty guys its Wolves. Just here to say that we don't own the Hunger Games and that this chapter was written by amazing Music Rules the World a.k.a. Lilly. So I'll let her take over the rest of the author's note.**

 **Hey, It's Lilly. We have been getting a lot of great submissions so far, and some have already taken spots. Since this fandom has an amazing obsession with Hanging Tree (I listen to it all the time), I ended up listening to it the whole time writing this chapter. Listening to it while you read might help. So without further ado, Johanna Mason.**

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 **Johanna Mason, District 7, Seven Months Before Reaping.**

The sky is almost black, it looks like a storm should be coming soon. I can't help but think it's quite fitting for our current circumstances. So this is it huh? This is how it all ends? Well at least I get to die at home, surrounded by the sight and smell of the forest, it's some comfort at least. I'm half tempted to smile, the pleasant memories I have of this place, my home district, is something they can't ever take away from me.

I'm sure that it would piss those Capitol assholes off in a big way if I died with a big old smirk on my face, it would be like my last "fuck you" to the Capitol, and I'm quite sure that I'm not the only one of us that feels this way. Though I might have been wrong, as I look around at the other victors, the only expressions I can see are fear or grim resignation.

I can only imagine what the Capital must be thinking. They're most likely laughing their asses off at how they crushed us as if we were nothing but insects. I have to admit that it's pretty depressing to see your allies, the other rebels give up so easily. It wouldn't make a difference considering we are about to die, but I had always expected us to be fighting until the end, not caring about the chains holding us back.

From how I see it, however, there isn't much we can do. Every last one of us is lined up neatly in front of the Justice Center, decked out in enough chains to restrain a rabid bear and surrounded by Peacekeepers, all armed to the teeth. So that would be a no on a daring kamikaze assault.

Damn.

If only we could do something to show that the rebellion shouldn't die with us. Inspire the people watching this to pick up where we left off. It can be done, I'm sure of it. Now, the only thing I have to do is figure out how and do it before a bullet gets lodged into my skull.

Funny how even a simple though can get your adrenaline pumping, I feel like I'm back on the arena a third time. Or being tortured again, back in the Capitol. Or hearing the agonized screams of my family, as they burned in our house while I was restrained by a Peacekeeper (a message from Snow).

Pity, I wanted to see what the new president was like before I died. I think I deserve at least a small thank you for taking an axe to that snake-bastard's head and putting Madame Whatever-The-Fuck-Her-Name-Is in office. Nobody saw me kill him of course, but that didn't really matter to me. He was dead and that was all that mattered.

We were fools to think that killing Snow would win us the war. It was gratifying for sure and we thought that with that final act of rebellion that we would have the Capitolites at our mercy. What we didn't expect was his death sparking the Capitol to renew their efforts. It's almost funny how the positions had switched. We were so sure of our victory with that act… and yet it was that action that prompted the capitol to rebel against us.

But not all actions of rebellion have to be large or obvious, in most cases the subtle acts are the ones that often speak the loudest.

That's when my plan hits me. I remember the song Katniss had all of Panem singing. It was a rebellion within itself. It's not a foolproof plan by any means but it's the best I can do on short notice. I have to act now, time is almost up. Some blowhard Peacekeeper starts reading off our crimes but I pay him no mind, there's more important things to be focusing on. With a final look at my allies-friends, I pause briefly to take a breath thinking

' _Well, here goes nothing'_

"Are you, are you coming to the tree?" I sing, it's little more than a whisper, only loud enough for Volts (standing at my right) to hear.

I catch his eyes, the dull brown orbs flash with understanding and he gives me a subtle nod. We sing the next line together, slightly louder.

"They strung up a man, they say who murdered three".

We have their attention now. I try to find a location on Haymitch. The drunkard in question is a few people down the line, staring at Volts and myself in confusion for a few moments before he too understands. His gray eyes flicking to our executioners likely to gauge their reaction to our singing, it doesn't take long before he's singing along with us, Peeta joining in soon after.

I watch the latter, perhaps a bit longer than I should have. Ever since Finnick died, I've seen him in almost every person I too look at. His death hit me much harder than I would ever admit. That fishbrained idiot was my best friend, one of the only people I could trust, one of the only people who could make me feel somewhat human and normal. But he was never the same after we got word that Annie died. Fin was strong, there was no doubt about it… but he needed Annie. He needed her the same way Peeta needed Katniss. And those two "star crossed lovers" were going to die together. Like fish-boy wished he could've done with his wife.

Without realizing it, we start on the fourth verse, Katniss' strong voice joining ours in a determined harmony. I smirked, glad that the people I had been through everything but my games with, were with me. We were dying, no question about it, but at least we were all going down together. I couldn't help but feel a little smug. I was right, we would be fighting up until very the end after all.

 _Bang!_

A lone gunshot flies from one of the guns positioned in the peacekeepers hand. I look around at the others to find the recipient of the shot. As if on cue, Haymitch falls to the ground, blood pooling from a wound to his chest.

An anguished scream rings out from the line, a shrill timbre that could've only come from Effie Trinket. I _knew_ there was something going on between those two.

' _Huh, if Finnick was still alive he'd owe me a round of drinks'_. I know now is really not the time to be dwelling on useless bullshit like bets with a dead person, but I'll be dead soon anyway, so I don't think matters too much.

At any rate, my plan was working. The fire had been lit. The gun shot that was supposed to contain it, had only served to fuel it further.

 _"_ Strange things did happen here no stranger would out seem. If we met at mid night in the hanging tree _"._

We are all singing louder, and the crowd has joined as well. These people, _my people_ , are cheering us on. They want us to fight.

 _Bang!… Bang!_

This time it's Katniss that falls. Peeta follows soon after. I notice the bullets have lodged themselves into their stomachs. The wounds would kill them eventually, but not right away… they would linger for some time, likely in complete agony. Compared to the clean shot to the heart Haymitch got, it's cruel. But that's the Capitol for ya.

Their suffering in life wasn't enough for the Capitol. They had to suffer as they died as well. However, they don't let them win, the two lovebirds continue to sing through the pain. Their voices are faint, and wavering, but they still sing with all they have. Granted it's nothing compared to the shouts and cries of the District 7 citizens. Practically roaring in complete outrage. A new sense of hope rises within me. Volts, the onlookers and I are growing louder by the second. The plentiful sound of gunshots are all but muted by the rage of us rebels.

 _Bang!…Bang!…Bang! Bang! Bang!_

There goes Volts, then Effie, then Plutarch, Gale, and Cressida. They all fall, one by one. It's sick but the way there killing all of us off is almost… underwhelming. Funny how surviving two Hunger Games, President Snow and a rebellion will do that to you.

It's not like this for everyone, however, I've seen people like Annie Cresta that were reduced to almost nothing and practically begged for it all to end. I don't blame her for it though and if I'm being perfectly honest after everything I've been through, while I loathe admit it… I feel almost _excited_ to die. Alright maybe excited is the wrong word. Relieved may be more appropriate.

I've been tortured in ways that you could and should never imagine, and just like any other person from the districts I've had to spend my entire life as a slave to the Capitol's whims. It's not hard to think that death is a decently appealing option.

Who knows, maybe after you die there really is a better place. Somewhere safe with no pain, or death, or tyranny. A place where I can see my family again and maybe a few of those other assholes I've somehow become friends with. Somewhere where I can finally, finally be free.

The crowd seems to have had enough and soon things have descended into chaos, there's screaming and shouting, the crowd rushes forward in a surge of rage. It isn't long before it descends into an all-out riot. Bullets and axes flying through the air, bodies of both Peacekeepers and rebels start dropping and blood begins to run through the streets. It's brutal and bloody but I've never been more proud to be a Seven.

 _Bang!_

I barely have time to register what's happening. Before I know it, a bullet has lodged itself in my chest, missing my heart by what I assume is less than an inch. A burning ache quickly seeps into my chest as I slump to the ground and I know my time is almost up. But I'm not done just yet. I can feel my lips twitch into a grin, _'well it looks like I will be dying with a smile on my face after all_ '.

With what is likely my last breath I manage to sing the final verse, my voice is raspy and faint to my own ears but I know it's enough. The rebellion won't die with me, there is still hope and as long as there is hope we can never truly die.

"Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be. If we met up at midnight, in the hanging tree"

The pain in my chest has stopped, I'm cold now, numb to everything around me. The scene of chaos and carnage begins to darken and I know it will all be over soon. With what little strength I have left I close my eyes. I think I deserve to rest now, don't you?

And just like that everything goes silent. I'm dead.

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 **Wolves here again. Yes we killed the rebels (don't hate us please!). So we still have spaces open for tributes. If you're interested all the information, including an updated tribute list. Anyways please follow/favorite/review if it suits you. Constructive criticism is always wanted and appreciated. See you guys next chapter!**


	3. Fear Rules All

**Hey guys Wolves here with our third prologue. So just wanted to say first of all we own nothing, just the plotline and a few of the characters. Also thank you all so much for all of the amazing characters and support you have given to this story. We really appreciate it! So now that I've done my usual babbling, onto the chapter!**

 **P.s. I've been sick with a pretty bad cold the past week or so, so I seriously apologize if this chapter is lacking.**

 **Anyways . . . Enjoy!**

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 **Gamemaker Adrianus Tray-Durand, Capitol, Six Months before Reaping.**

For the first time in almost ten years I am seriously questioning the benefits of keeping this job. I know that the likelihood of finding another occupation with a halfway decent paygrade would be near impossible at this time, but at this point I'd honestly consider working with the Avoxes (if not only for the silence). There's been so much arguing and complaining that I feel as though I've traveled back in time to Cyprian and Cordelia's seventh year and even at that age their bickering wasn't this dramatic nor was it nearly as tiresome.

My "esteemed" colleges have wasted months on needless and overly impassioned arguments regarding the theme of the latest death trap for the district children; that have far surpassed the utterly inappropriate. In fact I'm half-expecting one of them to start throwing the "yo mama" insults at any time, since that seems to be the only line they haven't crossed. Though I must admit while the arguing is a prevalent annoyance. . . I'm almost grateful for the lack of progress.

Throughout my entire life I had been taught that the Hunger Games was a noble competition, meant to bring honor to Capitol, which was only right. As well as bring livelihood to the district of the victor and motivate the other districts to try harder for the next year.

These games were my family's everything. My grandfather was one of the first Gamemakers, my father eagerly following in his footsteps, as did my uncle, and I too followed them when my time came, and did so happily.

I can't properly explain the euphoria that I had often felt when a trap that I had suggested injured or killed one of that year's tributes. Not because I'm a sadistic monster or anything of that sort, but rather I was bringing entertainment and _joy_ to my people, what could possibly be more fulfilling than that?

How many amazing memories have I had because of this occupation, in this very room? Far too many to count I would say.

The day my first obstacle suggestion killed a tribute, it wasn't anything too gruesome or overly complex mind you . . . but I was a young man of eighteen at the time and I had never seem my father so proud.

The day I met the love of my life, Nero. He was one of the most arrogant creatures that I had ever had the displeasure of meeting but somehow the little doofus eventually ended up growing on me, albeit a bit grudgingly.

Then there was the day our surrogate called announcing that we were going to be fathers. I don't think I'd ever seen Nero so euphoric, not even on our wedding day. Thinking about that day, even now brings a slight smile to my lips. Something of a small miracle nowadays.

Yes, I loved the Hunger Games and I loved my job . . . until they almost took everything that was most precious to me. Because of this "game" and my husband and I's respective roles in enabling them, we were made prime targets for the rebellion.

We were attacked in our home, our aggressors armed with blades-not unlike those we would supply to the tributes year after year. I was able to escape the rebels with my children, but not without a gut-wrenching cost. Nero.

As we fled, he tried to protect us, that brave, protective idiot. I didn't see what exactly happened to my husband. However according to the peacekeepers who had found his corpse, he was beaten, stabbed, bludgeoned, strangled and burned. It was not a peaceful way to die. The rebels made sure of that.

Capitolites have always viewed the districts (with the exception of the upper 5) as almost subhuman, little better than uncivilized savages. Completely incapable of anything that could even be considered poetic or intelligent really in any sense. However how they chose to kill Nero utterly screamed a demented sort of poetic justice.

They slaughtered him as he (inadvertently) had slaughter their district's children, and as much as I wanted to hate them for taking my love away from me . . . I couldn't. I hated myself but I couldn't hate them, and it was all for the simple reason, we had ultimately brought this fate upon ourselves!

We gleefully killed twenty three children year after year. Innocent children, all condemned to die horribly while their families were forced to watch. These games were meant to punish the rebels and their supporters through the slaughtering of their children, at that time I believed it to be a necessary tactic to ensure control would be maintained throughout the districts. . . but that was over seventy five years ago. What was the crime of the hundreds of children who came after? Simple, they were born in the districts.

Up until a few months ago I had happily conformed to the long held ideal that the Hunger Games was just simply that, a game. We had allowed ourselves to believe that all of this senseless death and carnage was all in good fun, it wasn't causing any harm. And for the Capitol that was a true statement, it wasn't causing us any harm, so why would we stop?

After all it wasn't like I would ever see Cyprian or Cordelia running for their lives, being chased by weapon baring madmen or starving with no food to be found to ease the hunger pains in their stomachs.

. . . Until I did, and it was honestly the most horrifying thing I have ever experienced. Seeing my children frightened and in pain, while I was ultimately helpless to stop it, it was like a punch to the stomach.

After all, it's a parent's instinct to protect and provide for their children and when they are unable adhere to this predisposition of nature, horrifying. I have come to understand this helplessness intimately and I know now that it is a feeling that is nothing less than pure agony to endure.

Like many others of my standing I wanted to blame the rebels for this, for causing my family such pain. I'm sure I did, at least for a little while. Though upon further reflection I came to an earth shattering epiphany that should have been obvious.

Nero was killed because he killed children, I have killed children and I now realize that I should be dead as well. How much torment and despair have I brought upon innocent families that have done nothing to wrong me in anyway? Countless.

How could I possibly hate or blame a people who had to endure these horrors year after year, while we of the Capitol would laugh and take the utmost joy in them. We viewed the district dwellers as savages, when in truth it seemed that it is we who are the real proponents of savagery.

I know that it seems ridiculous for me to be proclaiming the depravity of these games while I am still playing a part in bringing this monstrosity to life. If I'm being honest with myself, I'm still sitting here because I am a coward.

This job keeps my children fed, clothed and assures that they have a secure and warm place to sleep. I'm desperate to keep them alive and make sure that they will never experience that hunger or uncertainty again. I'm terrified to be destitute, to live on the streets relying on the rare benevolence of strangers. I'm scared that if I speak out against the games that I'll be killed for treason, leaving my kids all alone and ultimately making Nero's sacrifice worthless. Yes, I am well aware that it's disgusting and cowardly and I hate myself for it . . . but it is the best option I have. As much as the idea of causing more needless violence disgusts me, this is my job and I will do it to the best of my ability.

If only these idiots would stop insulting each other so we could finally get some damn work done and go home for the day. That would just make life so much easier. Unfortunately most of them are too prideful and stupid to allow bygones to be bygones so the arguing will likely last well into the night.

But before I have the chance to stew about the current incompetents of my colleagues, Alexander choses to enter the room. He's almost an hour late, an oddity considering that he is usually the first one here. I didn't give it too much thought since there was a number of scenarios that could have caused his truancy, however something about our head's demeanor has changed. Alexander, while confident had always been more on the quiet and unassuming side, not one to draw attention to himself.

A gifted and experienced Gamemaker, though he was not someone I would've expected to be chosen for a leadership position. I have nothing against Alexander, far from it. It is simply that he always seemed to be lacking in the sense that his presence did not often command your attention, like that of Crane or Heavensbee.

However that seems to have changed as he strode purposefully into the room, a black briefcase clenched tightly in his grip and his visage the picture of an authoritative leader. A surprised hush fell over the room at his approach, all eyes fell to him. But he did not falter, the cool expression never once cracking under the intense scrutiny. He cleared his throat and began speaking

"Good morning everyone, I apologize for my lateness. There was a last minute project I had to finish. Now onto business, all of this pointless arguing, you all seem so fond of will end today. Why? Because I have the design for this year's arena. Approved by the president herself. If any of you have a problem with this then now would be the time for you to leave"

I was expecting some form of protest from the more petulant of our ranks, but surprisingly all was silent. Alexander seemed pleased by this and proceeded to remove a sleek, silver flashdrive from his case and placed it in the main computer grid and soon enough a full-scale hologram of what I can only assume to be the arena has taken form. It doesn't make all that much sense to me at first glance, but then Mills begins explaining the intricacies and plans he has for this deathtrap of his.

If this were any time before now I would've thought that his plan for this arena was a stroke of pure genius and that Alexander should take pride in his creation; but now, listening to the tone of dark glee prevalent throughout his entire speech, I can only feel revulsion.

This arena would definitely reiterate the original purpose of the games, I have absolutely no doubts about that.

This wasn't meant to just be another arena. No. It was to be a house of horrors.

I had half a mind to speak out against this, tell Alexander that he had gone too far with the arena, that it was inhumane and barbaric, even to our standards. But I didn't, my cowardice had once again overruled any sense of morality I may have had.

Luckily there was one among us that was willing to oppose this madness. A young man of nineteen-Caraunus Strife, if I remembered correctly. I'll admit, didn't know the boy very well but he'd given me no reason to think ill of him.

He was very quiet but on the few occasions when I had spoken with him, he had proven to be a polite and well-spoken youth. Hardworking and diligent in his work, though I had often thought that he was too softhearted for this job. It was not uncommon to see him wince and shudder when a tribute met their often gruesome end. An odd response for a Gamemaker but it was really none of my business and I was inclined to keep it that way. Though there was rumors that the caramel haired youth was forced into the job by his father to carry on the family mantle, but again it wasn't my concern and I never intended to change that.

"Sir, with all due respect . . . you can't seriously be considering placing children into that monstrosity." The boy stood confidently, his emerald eyes flashing in challenge.

Alexander for his part remained passive, or at least appeared to be as he looked to defiant teen.

"I believe that I have made my intentions regarding this year's arena quite clear. I take it you have a problem, Caraunus?" Mills asked, a dark smile twitching on his lips

Make no mistake we were all aware of the change in our Head Gamemaker since the death of his daughter. However we had all just assumed that her death had brought out a more reserved side of him, since the only time he'd really speak was to offer the occasional opinion on an obstacle or trap. Granted his opinions were often much more sadistic then we were used to from the often mild-mannered Alexander Mills, but it we all paid it little mind. After all, sadism was the nothing if not the name of the Hunger Games.

Though looking at him now, it was all too clear to see that there was now something . . . off about my boss. We all were now made acutely aware off it, with that unsettling expression. Caraunus surely must've noticed this as well but he refused to be cowed and stand down.

"Yes sir I do have a problem. You are planning to throw innocent children who have done nothing to-"

"I am planning to show those savages the error of their ways! They killed people Mr. Strife in case you were unaware!" Mills broke in, his voice straining with barely contained rage.

"And we've killed them, we've killed their children! Systematically year after year! You are planning to follow a design that won't work, this rebellion has done nothing if not prove that" The boy replied calmly, only the occasional clenching and unclenching of his fists giving any indication of his agitation.

I could feel the blood in my veins turn to ice as Alexander advanced towards the younger man. Something about his movements reminded me of a predator closing in on its prey. But the younger still held his ground, something I doubt most of us (myself certainly included) would have the courage or stupidity to do.

"What would you suggest then, boy?" Alexander sneered "Show those savages mercy? Have you forgotten that those rebels killed your father?!-"

He paused his tirade and smiled, but it was far from pleasant.

"Ah I understand now, you little halfling bastard. Your mother's a victor isn't she? The 57th games I believe. Quite a bloody one if I remember correctly. District 3, correct?"

"Yes, she was" Caraunus replied quietly, his cool expression slipping into a bitter melancholy

I wanted to say that I was surprised that this new tidbit of information, but if I'm being honest a Capitolite siring a Victor's child or vice versa wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. It wasn't really common either, but it did certainly explain some of the boy's reactions to the games. Especially if he was taken from his mother to be with his father (a rarity, but again not unheard of). The boy would've been a prisoner here forced to do whatever his father wished for him, if not only to ensure his survival or that of his truly loved ones back in his district of origin. An unfortunate fate for anyone to endure.

However any thoughts of sympathy rattling around in my cowardly, traitorous skull were quickly drowned out when Alexander resumed his rage-fueled tirade

"I think I understand now. You're not with us, you've sided with that whore you call a mother and the rest of those damn rebels! You'd do well to remember Caraunus, that you are a Gamemaker and a citizen to the Capitol and that it is our job to give the districts what they deserve!" Mills was shouting now, sounding damn near hysterical

"Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Mills that the actions of the rebels were warranted and perhaps we deserved to be punished as we were? Maybe those of us who died got what was coming to them!" the boy snarled hatefully in return

Everything seemed to pause at that moment, Caraunus had gone too far and we all knew it. For a few agonizing seconds you could've heard a pin drop. Then it all went to hell.

With an almost inhuman roar Mills lunged at Caraunus, delivering a well-aimed punch to the boy's jaw that sent him crashing to the ground. But the enraged man was far from finished. Something had been building behind those ice colored eyes and it had finally had been released.

He descended on the now vulnerable young man, raining punch after punch down upon his ill protected face. Caraunus tried to fight back in response, but his every attempt was easily knocked away by Mills-who in turn seemed to redouble his efforts to beat the poor fool even more senseless.

For the first few seconds we were all frozen, too shocked to even think about moving.

A nauseating _CRUNCH_ reverberated throughout the room, which could only be assumed as the sound of Caraunus' nose breaking, confirmed by the youth's resounding howl of pain. It was then that were a few of us that returned to our senses and hastily rushed towards the beating, I was not one of them. Whether it was for the intention of helping Caraunus or harming him I'll never know. Luckily this madness did not continue for long and the two were dragged apart after a few minutes.

Caraunus little better than a bloody pulp, barley able to stand without assistance and Mills with bloody knuckles and a disgusted sneer on his lips.

All was silent, save for the panting of some of my overexerted associates. We all nearly jumped from our skin as our apparently unhinged leader cleared his throat and went about fixing his now disheveled snow-white hair, with his now blood covered hands.

"Brutus, Octavian get this piece of scum out of my sight" Our head commanded gruffly

The two didn't need to be told twice and eagerly rushed to remove their injured colleague, as well as themselves from the room.

Upon their exit Mills turned to the rest of us. I froze, his piercing gaze pinning me in place as it flitted about the room.

"I apologize friends, I allowed that traitorous brat's ignorance to affect me more than it should have. I can promise you all that, that will not happen again, as long as there are no traitors among us" He paused, likely to give us a moment for threat to sink in "If anyone here feels uncomfortable with this arena now would be the time to leave. No harm will befall you, I promise. But be warned if you stay, I will not tolerate anything less than the best from all of you. If you can't provide that then I have no use for you. Is that understood?"

He was met with a chorus of nods and yeses. This was my chance to get out of this madness. To start washing my hands of all this.

But I didn't. I couldn't, while Mills promised that nothing unfortunate would befall those who left you'd be stupid to trust a Capitol promise. Plus what other option do I have? I have two children that rely on me and I refuse to fail them again. I wish I could be a stronger, like Caraunus- a boy almost half my age and willing to advocate for thousands of children he never knew, or Nero a man willing to throw down his life for his family, or even the rebels-all willing to die for what they believed in.

' _And just look where that got them. Beaten, disgraced, executed, dead'_

Yes, courage is an admirable trait, a trait I wish I possessed. But I don't and the more logical part of me is glad. Courage and morality are great, powerful motivators, there is no doubt about that. However they will only get you so far. Eventually courage and morals will way to a more powerful emotion. Fear.

Fear is one thing that seems to have limitless power over people. Fear of pain, fear of poverty, fear for your loved ones, fear of starvation, fear of death. So many fears and we can do nothing but cower before them.

I want to be brave, to do the noble, courageous thing for once in my fucking useless life but I won't because I'm afraid to. I've learned that courage is useless in this world because in the end, fear rules us all.

* * *

 **So yeah that's Alex for you, poor Caraunus! I'm horrible! Anyway tribute submissions are still open so please feel free to submit! I'd have to advise that we are starting to look for specifics in our tributes now, any specifications will be on my profile. I think that's pretty much it, so** **please follow/favorite/review if you feel like it, and constructive criticism is always wanted and appreciated. See you guys next ch** **apter!**

 **Thanks, Wolves :)**


	4. Villains Always Lose

**Wolves: The floor's yours, Lilly.**

 **Lilly: Hey, guys. I am sorry for disappearing, but life was pretty hectic recently, but I did manage to write this chapter.**

 **Warning: Lilly is an insane, but awesome, psycho, who came up with the idea for this chapter while watching a Beautiful Mind. She also wrote this chapter while listening Death is Just Around Corner (and quite possibly singing it as loud as possible). On to the more important part of this warning. There are also some mentions of suicide, and schizophrenia. If either of those things make you uncomfortable, just skip to the next A/N.**

 **Disclaimer: Neither Wolves, nor I own the Hunger Games. Or any of these awesome OC's who are listed below. Just our insane Head Game Maker, President Mills, and our other gamemakers. *Uses deep announcer voice* Put your hands together for… Alexander Mills!**

* * *

 **Alexander Mills, Capitol, 1 Week before the Reapings.**

After many disagreements, a war, and endless nights, the games have been completely planned out. The one thing left to worry about is the pre-game events which are starting next week with the reapings. Well, admittedly, we haven't exactly designed all the mutts, but that won't take too much time to do. After we weeded out those, too soft hearted to carry out the Arena design and the fighting stopped, the other gamemakers turned out to be more efficient then I had ever seen them. Everybody seemed eager to get revenge on the people that had killed our friends and families.

Of course the best example was that boy. That damn half-savage, the first person to dare protest the genius of my design. I should have known he would be the weakest link. After all, his mother knew the rebels extremely well. She was allied with them in the 75th games. It was all to fitting that she met her end by a true victor's blade slicing her scrawny neck. I should not be wasting my thoughts on that insolent wretch, that lose tongue of his was dealt some months ago. From what Themis has told me, he's been a decent acquisition to her staff. Not that I particularly care. If I had it my way the little bastard would've been scourged to death in the city square, but it was not my choice. I can reserve that punishment for my daughter's killer. To see them crying and screaming out in agony while their children watch in unimaginable horror.

Often, I find myself dreaming about the son or daughter of Hestia's murderer getting reaped, the demon spawn sobbing and sniveling like the disgusting little piece of filth that they are as they are dragged –none too gently- to the stage. Then they would cower before the might of my glare as they clumsily went through their private sessions. I would make sure they scored well regardless, if not only to make them a larger target . . . and perhaps supply them with some false hope.

When the games finally came I'd simply sit back and relax, relishing in their shrieks of pain, of fear, as their repulsive form was ripped to bloody shreds by a creature of my own design. Their screams would serve as beautiful crescendo to this symphony of revenge, to which I am the humble maestro. However, as much I'd love to see the demon spawn of my baby's killer meet a gruesome end. I cannot, not yet anyway. Unfortunately that that criminal, no, that monster, still remains nameless, the fucking coward. I don't know who killed her and it seems more and more likely that I never will.

Hestia's body still remains unfound. I've never understood what kind of person could slaughter someone like my little girl, someone so pure, so innocent . . . until now. Monsters, every last one of them.

As I find myself reminiscing upon this beautiful dream, I'm interrupted by my coworker, Pilatus. "What was she like?" he asks quietly.

I stiffen, slightly embarrassed to have been caught doing the exact opposite of what I have been encouraging the others to do. It wasn't such an odd question, many of the Gamemakers had taken to discussing those they lost in the war, I didn't mind too much since it could only drum up more bloodlust. Though it's not exactly something that I'd want to discuss myself, however he asked so it would be rude if I were to ignore his inquiry.

"Hestia?" I ask. "She was amazing. The best daughter I could have dreamed of having. I knew that ever since she was born. I was so flustered that day. I got a call saying that my wife was having a baby, and I panicked. I was scared that I was going to fail as a father. I guess I did."

Pilatus looked at me for a few seconds before talking, an expression on his face that I didn't comprehend. An odd mixture of pity, and worry I believe. "I meant your wife, sir. Elizabeth was her name, wasn't it?"

With that question my mind blanked. Elizabeth, or Lizzie is my wife, but she is alive and well. I just talked to her this morning. "What do you mean was? Elizabeth is perfectly fine. Nothing has or will happen to her"

Pilatus just gave me a confused look. "Sir, she died. It was about a year ago, remember? It was in the newspapers and everything. Everybody was confused about her death for months. You barely spoke to anyone during that time, not at all surprising considering you found her with that suicide note"

Now it was my turn to be confused. "Suicide? What are you talking about? Elizabeth is alive!"

Pilatus mutters something under his breath. Something about the President, delusions and a warning.

What the hell is he trying to do? Ruin my reputation? Stop my revenge? "Wait, who put you up to this? No matter what you say, it will not distract me from my revenge." I snarl out before I can think to stop myself.

"N-nobody" He stutters. "I-I've j-just noticed that you've changed recently, and I talked to President Acacia. She told me that she noticed the same thing. I'm sorry to break it to you, but-" he started to trail of. "Y-your wife is d-dead".

I felt my face flush. I won't have him mentioning something like that. Not here. Not now. Not ever. "Get out! Get the fuck out of here right now, and don't you dare come back. You're fired!"

The younger man wasted little time in scrambling out, an expression of terror plastered to his homely face.

Elizabeth is fine. She has to be. However, I find my faith wavering. I grab my phone, and quickly dial our home number. After about a minute, I resign, and decide to go on the computer and look up her death. Sure enough, I'm flooded with hundreds of articles vividly describing the mystery behind her death. One of them even blamed me for her death.

That's the final straw. I walk to the hologram that proudly displays my arena design. I study the three dimensional image carefully and cannot feel anything less than satisfied. I've spent countless hours and so many resources to bring this fantasy of revenge, I should be proud, euphoric even. And I am everything that I have planned thus far has worked flawlessly, everything has fallen perfectly into place. The arena is complete, the new escorts, stylists, and the Master of Ceremonies have been chosen, and with the exception of a few unfinished mutts everything is ready. All we need now is the tributes. Twenty four children, some innocent, some not to fill this death trap.

I try not to think of the innocents in all of this, the young ones who had nothing to do with this rebellion, sent into this death match simply by chance. For every time I think of them something in my heart clenches and my stomach twists. I feel . . . guilty.

Of course, I'm still determined to avenge Nickel. He was my best friend. However, I feel a strange sensation in my heart that refuses to fade. I feel what some of the other, more softhearted gamemakers must have felt when I first shared the approved arena design. What was and should be, the pride and joy of my career just makes me feel guilty. If this is what the districts have to go through annually, why am I putting their kids through this torture machine for?

I felt a quick but gentle tap on my shoulder and turn around to find a woman with short blue hair, azure eyes, and pale skin. She is tall and lean. It's Elizabeth. So if she's there, then she can't be dead. This revenge is worth it. I knew it. Nobody else does, but I do. Elizabeth is okay. Hestia will be avenged. My plans will pay off. Who knows? Maybe, my day dream will come true and we will reap somebody close to her murderer. Maybe we'll get the person who murdered her.

"Alexander, you told me that you'd come home at 10 o' clock. It's past 1 in the morning. I was starting to get worried."

"Okay. I just have to finish one more thing, and we'll go home. But why are you even here? You should be…" What should I say? That she's dead? No. She's alive. Everybody else is wrong. "You should be home. You could have just called me."

"I know but I was getting worried, and it wasn't too long of a walk from the house. Just finish what you need to do. I'll wait for you outside." She gave me a quick peck on my cheek, and walked out of the room.

There is nothing wrong with me. Until the war, we were a happy, safe family of three. Now the districts will see what it's like when their children get ripped away from them. The people who deserve to die will. Nobody that doesn't deserve to die will die. Not like Hestia did. good and evil are very easy to tell apart. We're the good, the districts are the evil. Everything will be okay. Good always wins.

That is why nobody will truly win these games. Not in the way people think they should. They never have, and they never will. Because in the end, the odds are never in the favor of the villains.

* * *

 **Wolves: Surprise we aren't dead! So anyways guys we just want to thank you for all of the amazing tributes and the support. Just three more tributes and we will have the entire cast for the fucked up horror show- Imeanwhat? Anyways there is three slots still open. The female for District 11 and the males for Districts 8 and 9, so please send them in. The next chapter shall commence shortly but until then, please Review/Follow/Favorite if it suits ya and we'll see you later.**

 **Thanks! Wolves and Music :)**


	5. A Cornered Animal Always Bites Back

**Hey guys! It's Wolves. So hey we're alive! So sorry it's taken so long for an update. School has been kicking my ass lately, but now the semester is over so hopefully updates will be more forthcoming. I'm not exactly sure how well it turned out so I apologize if it's crap. But anyways here's a happy New Year's present to all of you awesome people. Now here we have our first tribute! Mr. Dakota Forrester!  
P.S. The list of accepted tributes have been posted at the end of the chapter, and thank you all again for all of the amazing support we have received for this story. It really means a lot :).**

 **Warnings: A lot of swearing and some suggestiveness**

 **Once again we own absolutely nothing!**

* * *

 **Dakota Forrester, 17, District 7, One day before the Reaping.**

It was a normal day in District 7, the birds were chirping, peacekeepers were sticking their fat noses where they didn't belong and there was a brawl in the lumberyard. Nothing unusual, for me anyways. Did I mention that I was the one in the fight?

"Come on asshole, you can do better than that" I sneer, sidestepping the punch from Spruce Lancaster and countering with one of my own. Sending the annoyed load-puller staggering back a few steps.

"Fuck you Forrester!" he snaps before charging at me again. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough to dodge the asshole so he ends up tackling me into a tree, pinning my arms to my torso and my back against the bark with his girth all while seemingly trying to squeeze the life out of my lungs. Just my fucking luck, I end up getting crushed against a tree by the brick wall of district 7. But it's alright -a slightly heavy setback- but I can deal with this.

"You offering, Lancaster?" I ask with a slight wheeze, but that doesn't stop me from raising an eyebrow with my signature smirk "Oh gosh, I'm flattered. . . but I think I'd rather fuck a three legged donkey, not that it'd be much different"

The oaf sputtered for a moment, loosening his grip just enough for me to wrench one of my arms free and slam my elbow into the back of his head, Spruce's grip slackens with a grunt; giving me enough time to free my other arm and shove him back. Putting the fight back on even ground. The gathered crowed roars in appreciation. Tensions have been high for the past few months and any brawl seems to be just the ticket to relieve some stress on all ends.

We circle each other like rabid dogs snarling over the last piece of meat. I'm just gonna be honest here, I really don't remember what me and Lancaster were even fighting about, but all I know is my adrenaline's pumping and I feel fucking alive right now, which is more than good enough for me. I'm not entirely sure who moves first but I have Spruce in a strong headlock and I'm feeling pretty damn smug about it . . . until he grabs my leg and pulls it out from under me. I flail my arms out to try to regain some semblance of balance but I'm too late and end up flat on my back, almost in a full spread eagle in the middle of the yard. Yeah, not my most dignified moment. I get about three seconds to take inventory of the situation before the load-puller decides to slam his heel into my stomach and knock the air clear out of my lungs.

What is with this asshole and impeding my breathing!? It's fucking rude and I'm getting pretty damn tired of it. But nothing comes to a head until that asshole opens his big mouth.

"The only Forrester I would fuck is your slut of a sister" he sneers and all I see is red.

You can talk shit on me all you want to but if you ever talk about anyone I care about, especially Acacia, then I wish you the best of fucking luck.

The feeling of rage burning in my gut has allowed me to ignore the sensation of suffocation enough to grab on to my opponent's ankle and twist it to the left with a violent jerk. There's a loud _snap_ and a howl of pain, followed by shouts of both excitement and despair.

 _Cedar must've started the betting pool again._ Not that I particularly care . . . as long as he splits the winnings with me. But this should be more of an afterthought, I've got bigger logs to chop right now.

The idiot hits the ground next to me with a thud and a particularly vile curse, my god does this asshole kiss his mother with that mouth? Well regardless the odds have now flipped towards my favor and I'm going take full advantage of that. With Spruce now on my level, I lunge at him with a roar of rage and while he puts up a struggle, my breath is back and this asshole's gonna get his and then some. I'm going to see this bastard bleed.

I start throwing punches, they're wild and have little control, I know Acacia had taught me better than that, but they get the job done well enough.

"You. Shut. Up. About. MY. SISTER!" I snarl, no better than an enraged animal. Each word punctuated by another harsh blow to the big mouth's ugly mug.

Soon Spruce's lip is split and one of his eyes is sure to blacken in an hour or so. The crowd is going damn near wild and I can feel his blood starting to cover my hands. Right now all that matters is this fight, there was no Capitol, no Peacekeepers, no pain. All that exists is the roar of the crowd and the thrill of the fight, I'm not a chained down dog to be beaten down into submission; I'm someone who is fighting against an opponent for no one but myself, for a few moments I feel free, and the rush of adrenaline makes me feel damn near indestructible. But I don't let the high totally take over. Old Sprucey's looking kinda bloody and his cursing and struggling are starting to lesson. My anger starts to fade at this, Spruce has obviously lost; the fight's pretty much over and while I may despise this idiot I'm not about to hit a guy when he can't fight back, or take it a step further and make sure that that mouth-breathing son of a bitch never breaths again. Call me whatever you fucking want: a savage, a manwhore, I couldn't give less of a flying fuck; But one thing that I'm not is a murderer. The only lives I would ever willingly take are those of Capitolites or peacekeepers. They're not people, I'm not exactly sure what they are but they're not like us. They have no empathy, no sympathy. They'd happily let thousands die starving and in pain while they live in comfort, they rejoice in the needless slaughter of children and wonder why we fight against them. The very thought of Capitolites has my skin crawling and my lips drawing into a disgusted snarl. The

Speaking of those bleached, ball-less bastards, right as I'm about to land the knockout blow I find myself being wrenched backwards and away from the barely conscious Spruce, by the hands of none other than a peacekeeper; but not just any peacekeeper. No, I just had to get the one Peacekeeper out of the hundreds of tyrants squatting in 7 who's presence alone gets my blood boiling much more so than any other of these assholes ever has.

Bane Gladstone, tall, dark and infuriating. He's been here for a few months and I've hated him since day one.

"Well here we are again Dakota, and here I thought you were going to be a good boy and stay out of trouble" He's grinning down at me, his tone just oozing with condescension, his gloved hands were still gripping my shoulders. God I just want punch that smile off of his smug face, but I don't of course. That would only cause more unnecessary trouble that he's definitely not worth.

My secondary instinct is to snap a retort back at the handsome peacekeeper and I would have had he been alone, but alas Gladstone's brought almost an entire patrol with him. One even slightly snippy response and my ass would be dragged to the square and whipped till there's no skin left on my back . . . again. Which Acacia would be forced to watch . . . again, and I can't put her through that. With that in mind the dumbass was spared from a verbal ass whooping for another day. So for the time being I do the only thing that I can do: snap my mouth firmly shut and rip myself out of him strong grasp with a chilling glare. All I get is an amused smirk from him in return. I can't lie, there's a certain amount of handsomeness and dare I say charm in that expression that takes over his arguably well-chiseled features

This isn't anything new, and yet somehow it manages to piss me off every fucking time. What right do these assholes –especially Bane- have to interfere with our business anyhow? Shouldn't they be happy that we're fighting each other instead of trying to put axes through their necks? Well at any rate this will probably end in some form of humiliating punishment for a few of us, myself definitely included. But just as I'm expecting to be seized by the brutish hands of these idiotic puppets, the yard foreman's daughter, Savin . . . or was it Sequoia? I don't know, one of those. She's about a year younger than me with tanned skin and dark green eyes. Pretty good looking if I do say so myself. Which is an opinion that is apparently shared by the majority of the patrol which why I suppose all it takes for them to disperse is a batting of her long lashes and some bullshit explanation with a heartfelt assurance that it wouldn't happen again for the patrol commander to give a stiff nod and order for the rest of the battalion to return to their posts, but not before Bane opens his fat mouth once more time.

"See you later little Forrester. Try not to get into any more trouble while I'm not around. I'd hate to see you get into any more trouble and not be there to help with your _punishmen_ t" He speaks in what I can only describe as an amused purr before he turns on his heel and returns to his post and I'm left to glare holes in the back of his head as he goes. While a large part of me boils with fury, I can't stop a slightly pleasant shiver from running down my spine.

It doesn't mean anything. It's just been too long since I've had a good screw. Speaking of, I'm sure that Savin –or Sequoia- could use a reward for helping me and the others out with the peacekeepers. Sure I'm still a little sweaty and a bit bloody from the fight but I doubt she'll care too much. Hell she might even see it as a turn on. Unfortunately, for me just as I'm about to go and ask if she'd like to have a nice time out with me tonight I find myself being thwacked in the back of the head by what I now know to be Lark's clipboard.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

And there it is, don't get me wrong I love Lark like a sister but I swear that girl is like the biggest cockblock in the history of Panem.

"I was just going to go thank . . . Savin? For her help with the peacekeepers"

Lark fixes me with deadpan expression made complete with one raised eyebrow "Uh-huh, well first of all her name is Aspen. Secondly, she's already dealt with one jerk screwing her over this year, she doesn't need another"

"Lark do you really think so little of me? How dare you! All I wanted to do was thank a pretty girl for her help with getting rid of a group of pests. . . and maybe ask if she'd like to spend some time together later tonight" I say this with as much innocence as I can manage but my second best friend knows me too well.

"And there it is. Look Kota, I know you're stressed out but seducing the foreman's daughter isn't the way to deal with it. Remember what happened with Oak? He almost took an axe to your head when you stood him up. And you know how Mr. Clauson is. If he finds out you slept with his daughter just for the hell of it. It won't end well"

I'm tempted to roll my eyes at my friend's mention of my previous entanglements. She knows it's just one of my few stress relievers so I half wish she'd just get off my back about it. Luckily I'm saved from rehashing an argument that we've already had at least a hundred times by the arrival of Lark's twin brother, Cedar.

"C'mon Lark just leave the guy alone. He's just trying to take his mind off a certain Mr. Gladstone" Cedar smirks as he makes his way over, stuffing a small wad of cash in his pocket.

I roll my eyes and scoff "Don't be stupid Ceed. I know you haven't been the same since that log hit you in the head. But I didn't expect it to knock out the two brain cells you had in the first place"

"Oh haha. Kota you're hilarious" comes the sarcastic drawl of the load-pulling lug that just so happens to be my best friend "Why don't you just fuck the guy and get it over with. We all know you want to. You could cut the sexual tension between you two with an axe!"

"Please, I wouldn't touch that infuriating piece of shit with a twenty foot poll!" I can feel the disgusted sneer leaping to my features, though I think it must be lacking somewhat in it's usual intensity. I must still be tired from the fight with Lancaster.

It would probably be better to change the subject entirely before the dynamic duo start hounding me about my supposed "flirtationship" –their words, not mine- with Gladstone. As if I'd ever sink so low as to fuck a peacekeeper, no matter how good looking they are-

 _Now where the fuck did that come from?!_

"Anyway where's my cut of the winnings?" I ask with as much nonchalance as I can manage

"What winnings?" Cedar snorts "I bet that your ass would be grabbed by peacekeepers before the fight was through."

Lark and I roll our eyes in sync but that doesn't stop me from grinning and offering a challenge the slightly younger jack with log splitting competition for half of his loot. Lark, ever the voice of reason attempts to keep us on track, since Cedar's a load-puller who has no need to assist in whacking down trees, that and there's still about half a day's work left to do. But as we often do, we ignore the assistant overseer and go on with our competition and despite herself Lark ends up joining in the fun too about halfway through.

While a night of stress relief with a pretty girl would be nice before the reaping, today's really a time to spend with family; and god help me these to knuckleheads are the closest thing I've got –excluding Acacia-. We spend the rest of the afternoon chopping logs, pulling loads and all in all breaking our backs for a bunch of tyrannical assholes. The hours are ridiculous and the pay's a fucking joke, but it's better than spending the day marinating about our shitty circumstances. And with Cedar and Lark to hang out with it's actually a lot more bearable than the capitol would probably want it to be.

* * *

When the work day is finally through I trudge my tired ass back to the Forrester family hovel and immediately smell Acacia's mystery stew. Don't ask me what's in it cause I don't know and probably never will, and knowing the shitty state of the few rations we're given I probably don't want to, but it sticks to your ribs, fills your stomach and tastes fucking amazing after a day of hard labor.

It doesn't take long for dinner to be scarfed, and it was a rather silent affair. We Forresters were never a silent people, back when Mom and Dad were around there was always noise, be it bickering, joking or laughing. After their . . . deaths, Acacia still tried to make an effort to keep things just as loud and cheerful as before. I guess to distract me or give me hope, or maybe it was for her own distraction, her own hope that things would start to become normal again, that things would be fixed. Don't get me wrong I appreciate her trying . . . but things will never be normal. Some things have just been too changed, too broken to be fixed and that must be hard to even think about for a carpenter such as Acacia. And since my big sis has yet to show that this reality has sunk in for her. I guess I'm, grateful in a way that she hasn't, that she still talked and joked and annoyed the hell out of me. It really does almost make it seem like old times.

But she doesn't tonight and I really appreciate that. She stays quiet because there is one aspect of normal that has returned to Panem and it's the one normality that every almost every district dweller despises. The Hunger Games. The reaping is tomorrow and one unlucky son of a bitch will represent the 76th male tribute of district 7 and she knows that this unfortunate SOB could very well be me. I know it too, I can't lie and say that I'm not worried; because I am. But if I was picked I wouldn't roll over and wait to die. I'd fight for my life, I've fought for it before and I'm kinda eager to hang onto it for a little longer. In 7 it's dog eat dog world, you have to fight to survive especially now. Which is why if I have to go into the arena I'll feel sorry for the other tributes.

I'm no career, but you know the old saying: If you corner an animal, expect it to bite.

* * *

 **And that was Dakota ladies and gentleman. So again Happy New Year's Eve (or Day, depending on where you are) to you all of you! Now on to what you guys really care about . . . The Tribute list!**

 **Tributes:**  
 **District One-**  
 **Male: Corvus Drake (18)**  
 **Female: Dominique Whitney (18)**

 **District Two-**  
 **Male: Lance Cade (18)**  
 **Female: Titania Suretto (18)**

 **District Three-**  
 **Male: Lluc Furst (15)**  
 **Female: Callisto Jovian (13)**

 **District Four-**  
 **Male: Corin Vardon (18)**  
 **Female: Lila Cordero (18)**

 **District Five-**  
 **Male: Circuit Lectro (17)**  
 **Female: Margaret LeFay Hanes (15)**

 **District Six-**  
 **Male: Griffin Slane (13)**  
 **Female: Ellondria Vannellis (17)**

 **District Seven-**  
 **Male: Dakota Forrester (17)**  
 **Female: Imogen Blackwood (15)**

 **District Eight-**  
 **Male: Cristan Valtier (18)**  
 **Female: Alasie Pennyworth (17)**

 **District Nine-**  
 **Male: Leo Van Cornello (14)**  
 **Female: Horizon Barleigh (15)**

 **District Ten-**  
 **Male: Jericho Ranger (18)**  
 **Female: Enya Chien (12)**

 **District Eleven-**  
 **Male: Milo Garner (12)**  
 **Female: Esther June (16)**

 **District Thirteen-**  
 **Male: Ashley Caligari (18)**  
 **Female: Rosalind Branwen (16)**

 **And there you have it guys the tributes for the 76** **th** **annual Hunger Games! May the great Suzanne Collins have mercy on their souls! So once again thank you guys for all of your amazing support. So please follow/fav/review if you'd like, constructive criticism is always welcome, and have a great new year!**

 **Thanks- Wolves**


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